


An Ineffable October

by sabinelagrande



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Fictober 2019, Ineffable Inktober, M/M, Minor Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Some bites of Aziraphale and Crowley.





	1. At the Ritz

**Author's Note:**

> I am corrupting [#ineffableinktober](https://twitter.com/renblakely/status/1170084557439168512?s=19) and using it for fic prompts, as one does.

Crowley genuinely has no fucking clue what Aziraphale is eating. 

The Ritz has, in recent years, become increasingly a la mode with its food; this is to be understood in the French sense and not the English-language one, though if they started serving everything with ice cream he wouldn't be shocked. He's vaguely aware it's to keep up with other similar establishments. He hasn't seen this firsthand because Aziraphale had some falling out with someone at Claridge's who is long dead, but it is The Principle of the Thing, Crowley, so Crowley's exposure is limited.

It's just that the last eleven years have sorely tested Crowley. He's been doing kind of a lot to stop the world from ending. None of it left loads of time to read up on haute cuisine, a thing he only ever did in the first place to understand what Aziraphale was talking about. Aziraphale's been through it too, obviously, but he's a better prioritizer than Crowley is.

This is saying nothing. Crowley might as well make his to-do list by writing what needs doing on scraps of paper and throwing them into the air. Aziraphale is the list-maker, though he very often forgets to follow them.

Aziraphale sighs happily. "Oh, this is exquisite," he says, between bites of whatever with something sauce.

Crowley wonders if he can look it up on his phone under the table without being noticed. He has a lot of catching up to do.


	2. Eden

"Did you ever spy on Adam and Eve?" Crowley asked, his hand on Aziraphale's stomach and threatening to drift to somewhere more interesting.

"How could I spy on them?" Aziraphale said, frowning. "They knew I was there. That would be perfectly normal watching." Crowley sighed, pulling his hand away, and Aziraphale caught up to what was happening. "Oh, you were going for something."

"Yeah," Crowley grumbled.

Aziraphale grabbed his hand and put it right back where it was. "I didn't have to spy, my dear."

"Oh?" Crowley said, raising an eyebrow and drumming his fingers on Aziraphale's soft stomach.

"You must remember that they knew no shame until you came along," Aziraphale said. "It wasn't some furtive copulation in a bush. They did as they pleased, where they pleased."

"So you did watch," Crowley said triumphantly, his hand sneaking downwards.

"You know, they were quite good at it," Aziraphale said with a sigh. "They really cared for each other, and it showed." Crowley wrinkled his nose, and Aziraphale gave him a look. "You must think it's a little romantic, making love in a mossy bower with the light filtering in."

"You just said they didn't do it in a bush," Crowley said.

Aziraphale gave him a disapproving look. "A bower and a bush are not the same thing."

"Do our kind do romantic things in bowers?" Crowley said, shifting closer, his hand now in a fully obscene place.

"Oh, I really think we should," Aziraphale said, delighted. He gave Crowley the slightly bashful look that Crowley knew must be an act but got him every time. "But perhaps you might like to be romantic right here first."

"Anything for you, angel," Crowley said, kissing him.


	3. Crossover

"They want you to do _what_?" Ioun's messenger said.

"Inhabit a gun," the demon said.

"What in the planes is a gun?" Aziraphale asked.

"Like a crossbow, but nothing like a crossbow," Crowley said. "Blows holes in people."

"I've never heard of such a thing," Aziraphale said, which was saying something.

"Doesn't exist yet," Crowley said. "Asmodeus is very keen on it."

"I think you should flatly refuse," Aziraphale said.

"I was going to scheme instead," Crowley said. "Convince that suck-up Orthax to do it."

"You know, that just might work," Aziraphale mused. He sighed. "I just feel bad for the poor soul who has to live with that in their head."

"Sink or swim, angel," Crowley said. "Just like all of the Hells." He examined his long, pointed fingernails. "Bit of a shame, really. Whole family of Dawnfather worshipers."

"You said that just so I'd have a word with the planatars," Aziraphale said, narrowing his eyes.

"Who doesn't love the planatars?" Crowley said innocently. "I hear their touch is beyond compare." His face went sly, which was a much more natural look for him. "Of course, if you really want a touch that's beyond compare-"

"You're awful," Aziraphale said, in a voice that added "Keep going."


	4. Reverse

Crowley held the pin in front of him protectively. "Wouldn't make any sudden moves if I were you, witch."

"This is all very unnecessary," Aziraphale said. He was trying not to look threatening, but he was still holding a pendulum that kept swinging in what might have been a menacing way.

Neither of them moved for a long moment.

"I'm going to put my hands down now," Aziraphale said, slowly lowering them.

"How many nipples have you got, if you don't mind my asking?" Crowley asked, still holding his pin steady, other hand on his wrist to brace it.

"That's rather forward," Aziraphale said, blushing.

"You can tell me, or I can check," Crowley said. He paused. "I didn't mean that in a sexy way."

"Perhaps a cup of tea and a chat about prophecies instead?" Aziraphale said. "I've heard a lot about you."

Crowley gave him a hard look. "Yeah, alright then," he said. "But keep your hands where I can see 'em, witch."

"Oh, of course," Aziraphale said. "Can I offer you some sugar?"

"Now who's being fresh," Crowley said, and Aziraphale fumbled the kettle.

\--

Newt didn't stammer when he talked to Anathema. It admittedly took him until the early 1000's before that stopped, but he had finally come to grips with the fact that a beautiful demon actually deigned to speak to him.

"So how do we find the child?" Newt said. "We can't check the birth records for every eleven-year-old in England."

Anathema adjusted her glasses, which Newt knew she only did when she was nervous. "I'll put my people on it," she said.

"Oh," he said. "I should do that too."

She sighed. Unlike hers, Newt's people were useless.

\-- 

"So you charge both sides for your services," Aziraphale said.

"Yeah, they don't know I know they know each other," Crowley said.

"Perhaps they'll find a moment together after we stop the apocalypse," Aziraphale said, sounding a little dreamy.

"We?" Crowley said. "I just hunt witches."

"Well, if you're hunting me, you'd better keep up," Aziraphale said. "We have a job to do."

‐-

Days later, Newt and Anathema sat on a bench in a park.

"So now what?" Newt said. "We put the fear of- well, something in Heaven and Hell. What now?"

Anathema didn't say anything for a long time, long enough that Newt gave up. "Would you like to have lunch?" she asked, in a way that suggested it was more than lunch.

"I'd love that," Newt said, and very tentatively, he put his hand over hers.


	5. Alpha Centauri

"And what do we do when we get there?" Aziraphale asks.

"Huh?" Crowley says.

"Alpha Centauri," Aziraphale says. "What do we do when we get there?"

"You know, ah," Crowley says. "Just sort of enjoy it, kind of a thing."

"So we just look at it?" Aziraphale says.

"Stars are spectacular close up," Crowley says defensively. "Like nothing you've ever seen."

"It just seems like a long way to go for a short viewing," Aziraphale says.

"It's not-" Crowley says. "You're missing the point."

"What's the point, then?" Aziraphale asks. "That's what I've been trying to get to this whole time."

"You don't go to Lover's Lane to see an overlook," Crowley says testily. "You don't go on one of those swan boat rides to admire the dioramas. You don't go on a hay ride to look at autumn leaves."

"Oh," Aziraphale says.

"Yes, _oh_," Crowley says.

"My dear," Aziraphale says, putting a hand on the side of his face. "We can be together any old where, stars or no stars."

"They just make good ambiance, is what I'm saying," Crowley says.

"Perhaps we should just save the trip and make our own," Aziraphale says, taking both of Crowley's hands in his and tugging him towards the stairs.


	6. Crepes

"Surely by this point they make crepes in England that are acceptable," Crowley moaned. "They must be all over London."

"Crepes are to be experienced, Crowley," Aziraphale said disapprovingly. "It's not about simply eating. You must watch the preparation and enjoy the work that goes into it."

Crowley rubbed his temple. "If I promise to find you a place where you can watch all the crepe making you want, will you not make me go to France again?"

"I will allow you to make the attempt," Aziraphale said haughtily, and oh, now it was a matter of pride.


	7. Mesopotamia

Crowley discorporated during the Flood.

It's not something that he and Aziraphale ever mentioned again; he's not confident Aziraphale knows. Aziraphale left before the rain really got started good, before Crowley could make some slightly flirtatious comment about the Garden and watch him blush.

Crowley stayed, though the rain fell and fell, watching the devastation. "Come on, God, you bastard," Crowley shouted at the sky when the water was up to his neck. "Show me what you're made of. Prove to me you're just as awful as we all know you are."

There was paperwork when he got back to Hell, but it was worth it to prove his point, once and for all.


	8. Ice Cream

Crowley watches intently as Aziraphale reaches the end of his waffle cone. It's been a laborious process of biting and licking, and not in the way that Crowley likes those words to be strung together. Aziraphale has been policing drips and managing evenness with the calculation of someone who's been at this sport since it was invented, and eating an entire ice cream while getting none of it on your decades-old clothing requires that level of commitment.

Crowley entertains a brief fantasy of swooping in and taking the last bite, just to see Aziraphale's reaction. He can picture the indignation and betrayal on his face, both of which would be fine, but the sadness that would follow it is too much for Crowley to bear.

"You're going to ruin your lunch," Crowley says instead, and Aziraphale pays him no mind.


	9. Bookshop

"You left all this to go to Paris and almost get discorporated?" Crowley says, his hands behind his back as he strolls around AZ Fell's shop for the very first time.

"You did try the crepes," Aziraphale says, like he doesn't see the disconnect.

"This is quite a place you have here," Crowley says. "Shame that you're going to have to sell all these books."

"I'm what?" Aziraphale says.

Crowley looks at him. "The books," he says. "People are going to come in and buy them. At these prices, you'll move them quickly."

"I thought people might just want to come and see them," Aziraphale says, bewildered.

"Then you should have opened a library, but I suppose it's too late for that now," Crowley says. "See you later, angel," he adds, heading out, pleased as anything to have given Aziraphale a quandary to solve: what is a bookshop that doesn't sell books, if you already paid for the sign?


	10. Bodyswap

"What did you do with my body?" Aziraphale asks disapprovingly. "It feels all loose."

"That'll be the sleep," Crowley says. "You're a bit wound up, angel. Did you good, having a nap."

"Are you sure that's all you did?" Aziraphale says, looking suspicious. 

"What did you do to my body, that the first thing on your mind is to accuse me of whatever you're accusing me of?" Crowley asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Absolutely nothing," Aziraphale says, and he tugs decisively on his waistcoat like he does when he wants to appear serious. "You gave me charge of your body, and I served as a good steward."

"Oh," Crowley says. "Why?"

"Pardon?" Aziraphale says. 

"You knew I'd let you do whatever you liked to me," Crowley says. "You could have at least had a wank."

"So you _did_ do something to my body," Aziraphale says.

"I didn't," Crowley says. "Didn't think you were into that, me touching you when you were all helpless to resist." Aziraphale swallows hard, and Crowley breaks out into a grin. "You bastard, you wanted me to do it. Why didn't you say?"

Aziraphale sighs, deflating. "I think perhaps we missed an opportunity."

"Well, then," Crowley says, sauntering over and pulling Aziraphale to him. "Let's not miss any more."


	11. Paris

Aziraphale sees Crowley in Montmartre, but he's not sure Crowley sees him. He thinks perhaps Crowley thinks herself unrecognizable, as she sometimes does, but Aziraphale always knows. Her hair falls in effusive curls, bouncing as she walks; she's dressed in the latest and most scandalous fashion, of course, and Aziraphale's eyes are drawn to her skin, exposed most shockingly.

Aziraphale adjusts his tie and looks back at his dinner; there's no way she's seen him from where he is. He has nothing to say to her, except perhaps "I see you didn't kill yourself after all," which feels cruel even in his own head. He's going to stay right here and put her out of his mind entirely.

Crowley spends the night with la fée verte and remembers nothing of it. Aziraphale doesn't forget.


	12. Crowley's Flat

Aziraphale, all things considered, does not fit Crowley's decor. He's just too bright; it's not even an angelic thing, just the physical fact of his corporation. He has that wispy white hair, which is soft and downy absolutely everywhere it appears on him, and that pale skin, interrupted by little pink nipples that are barely a different color from the rest of it. The only hint of color on him right now is the blush on his cheeks, though it spreads down to his chest, and in the expanse of Crowley's bed, he stands out against the black sheets, almost like he's outlined in light-

"Honestly, Crowley, are you going to stand there all night?" Aziraphale says, maybe a bit petulantly.

"Sorry, angel," Crowley says, getting onto the bed and crawling towards him. "Couldn't stop looking at you. You draw the eye."

"Oh, hush," Aziraphale says, the blush deepening, and Crowley descends on him.


	13. Godfathers

Newt and Anathema go back and forth on the name. The Devices have weird names; the Pulsifers have offensively normal ones. Both sides are stuck on this issue.

Aziraphale keeps trying to advocate for saint names, while Crowley, for whatever reason, keeps putting in names of flowers. It is both not their call and entirely their business, having been elected as what Anathema is referring to as stewards but Newt keeps calling godfathers, though- thankfully for Crowley- no church is involved.

In the end, they can't in good conscience call her anything but Agnes, a very normal name from a very weird person, and Aziraphale and Crowley can't help but approve. 


	14. Miracle

"But look at her, Aziraphale," Crowley says, holding the smallest, most pitiful little black kitten up; he raises the cat to the level of his face, looking at Aziraphale over her. "What harm can one little kitten do?"

"That could be a demonic entity for all I know," Aziraphale says.

"With these little eyes?" Crowley says. "You love yellow eyes." Aziraphale isn't budging. "Come on, angel, she'll just roam about the place and catch mice. Wouldn't you rather have a cat than mice? It's only sensible."

"She's barely bigger than a mouse herself," Aziraphale says.

Crowley presses his nose to the cat's fur. "She'll grow into it."

Aziraphale sighs in defeat. "What have you named her?"

"Miracle, naturally," Crowley says.

"Why?" Aziraphale asks.

"Because I figured that's what it was going to take to convince you to keep her," Crowley says, snuggling the cat in his arms. "I'm only surprised it didn't come to that."

"Likewise," Aziraphale says, reaching out to scratch the kitten behind the ears.


	15. Rome

"When's the last time you went to Rome?" Crowley asks, apropos of nothing.

Aziraphale has to think about it for a moment. "Perhaps the 1960's?"

"Oh," Crowley says. "I was going to say pre-war."

"Why do you ask?" Aziraphale says.

"Do you ever feel like we don't get out anymore?" Crowley says.

"Does that bother you?" Aziraphale asks.

"I feel like it should," Crowley says.

"That didn't answer my question," Aziraphale says.

"Let me test it," Crowley says. He snuggles in closer to Aziraphale, his arm thrown over Aziraphale's stomach, and tangles their legs together. "Hm. Looks like it doesn't bother me at all."

"You silly thing," Aziraphale says, smiling, and he kisses Crowley on the forehead.

"You missed," Crowley says, pressing their lips together instead.


	16. First Times

It would be a lot of effort, is the thing.

Aziraphale was a late bloomer, but even he's been indulging in the pleasures of the flesh for the past two thousand years or so; Crowley started swifter than that. The time depth is too much to be contemplated. With that depth of time comes the fallibility of memory- has it really never, or did it once and get forgotten? Who's to say at this point whether a first time is a first time, when you've had six thousand years, or whether it was so unremarkable when it happened before that it's slipped by entirely?

So they don't keep track of them, don't put stock in the idea of being untouched or needing to wash away every tasty morsel, every beautiful sky, every lover's hand that touched them before.

They are the last ones for each other, and that is so much more important.


	17. Church

"Hey, angel," Crowley says, dropping onto the couch next to him.

"Nothing," Aziraphale says quickly, yanking his headphones out of the jack on his phone. Crowley has only recently convinced him to try a phone, headphones, and music that was even remotely current.

"I didn't actually ask anything," Crowley says with a grin. "What were you listening to? Find some smutty audiobooks?"

"I don't even think that's a real thing," Aziraphale says disapprovingly, "and it's my own- hey!"

Crowley has neatly snatched the phone. "You're getting all hot and bothered over Hozier?" he says, delighted.

"Please don't rub it in," Aziraphale says, sounding a little miserable. "I was just trying to find something uplifting to listen to."

Crowley is still grinning when he straddles Aziraphale's lap, bending down to whisper into his ear. "The only Heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you."

"Oh," Aziraphale breathes, letting his head fall back. "Oh my." He licks his lips. "Do you know all the words?"

"My lover's got humor," Crowley says, before kissing a line up Aziraphale's neck, but they barely make it to the second verse.


	18. You Go Too Fast For Me

_I'll show you too fast,_ Crowley says to himself once he's done being devastated. 

He goes back into the club and finds the prettiest person in there. It's a young gentleman who looks and feels nothing like Aziraphale, but that's not the point. The point is fucking him in the alleyway without even asking his name.

Crowley will be anything Aziraphale wants him to be, and that includes being the venal, heartless creature Aziraphale believes he is. It's easy; he never had a heart to start with.


	19. Regency

It's a great decade for tits.

The model gown is shirred over the bust, in that way that's modest until you bend over even slightly. Even without a glimpse inside, the fabric hugs the curve of the breasts, leaving nothing to the imagination even as it covers the skin.

Crowley is a fashion popularizer, not a fashion innovator. He can take no credit for how amazing his tits look in this outfit, especially when he does that thing where he presses one gloved hand to his chest to indicate surprise. They aren't even huge, just well-positioned and perky, but everything about this is working for him.

Aziraphale catches sight of him and almost drops his glass. The instant of sheer horniness before Aziraphale rights himself is sweeter than honey. He never should have shown Crowley that weakness; he'll come to regret it.

Or he'll just come. Also fine.


	20. Apocalypse

The thing is that now, Aziraphale doesn't know. 

Aziraphale knew, before. Everyone knew. The end times followed the prophecies. It was done and dusted, signed and sealed. Aziraphale wanted desperately to stop them, but he knew what to stop, even if he didn't do a great job. Now the Antichrist was never the son of Satan, and the seals all are broken, and now no one knows, least of all Aziraphale, who was there to see it blow up.

God plays her ineffable game, and it is unable to be effed.

Aziraphale looks at Crowley beside him, who's hissing a little in his sleep like he does sometimes. He's not convinced two heads are better than one or that the two of them stand a chance. All he knows is that what comes next, he will face with Crowley, and for now, that's enough.


	21. Dancing

Aziraphale wonders sometimes whether Crowley might be induced to gavotte with him. 

He hasn't seen Crowley in over a decade, and sometimes it feels like he will never see Crowley again. He's not sure it won't be his fault; what Crowley asked of him was unconscionable, but he could have perhaps been more understanding. Perhaps he could have trusted Crowley to have a good reason, instead of just assuming the worst.

But that's receding into the past now, like it or not, and Aziraphale is learning the gavotte. He thinks perhaps Crowley would pick it up easily; angels don't dance, but demons do, and Crowley is light on his feet. Crowley could join in, and they could link arms and smile at one another and maybe even laugh together again.

But probably not.


	22. Golgotha

Honestly, Crowley liked Judas. Had a good head on his shoulders. Did some much-needed tempering of JC himself, who also seemed like a nice kid. Shame it all went down the way it did, and the two of them were now victims of the Ineffable Plan, which could get effed as far as Crowley was concerned.

"Another," Crowley said to the innkeeper, and the way she said it was in a voice that had existed as long as alcohol, and the innkeeper recognized it and set her up again.

"And one for me," Aziraphale said, sitting next to Crowley, and the innkeeper just nodded and set down another cup. "I thought I might find you here."

"Oh?" Crowley said. "Come to see how my side are getting on with our triumph?"

"Let's not," Aziraphale said gently.

Crowley raised her cup. "Let's get fucked up instead."

"I was hoping you might say that," Aziraphale said, and they were still there at dawn. Crowley had fallen asleep against Aziraphale's shoulder, and Aziraphale gave the innkeeper enough coin to look the other way.

Crowley probably needed the rest. They all did.


	23. Shakespeare

Crowley likes Shakespeare's comedies the best, but the ones that are _really_ funny are the histories.

"I am not going to go to the theatre with you anymore," Aziraphale hisses, when Crowley laughs out loud during Richard II. "Laughing at the serious parts isn't done now."

"If you don't see why this is funny, I can't help you," Crowley says.

Aziraphale sighs. He's glad, for once, that shouting things at the stage has gone out of fashion. Just because Crowley's right doesn't make him, well, right.


	24. St. James Park

The sunset in St. James Park is, well- it's just not a venue for sunsets. It's a venue for so many lovely things, but a good sunset requires a flat, far-off horizon, not a park filled with trees. So the light overhead is a lovely orangy-red color, but the effect is no good.

"Do you ever think we come here too much?" Crowley says.

Aziraphale looks at him like he's said something sacreligious. "I beg your pardon?"

"We've been coming here since its inception," Crowley says. "There are plenty of places we've never been, and we're in this park instead."

"But this place is lovely," Aziraphale protests.

"I didn't say it was bad," Crowley says. "Plenty of things to recommend it. It's just that maybe-" He swallows. "Maybe you'd like to leave London. With me."

Crowley's tone gives Aziraphale pause. "For how long?" he asks.

"Ah, well," Crowley says. "Not exactly permanently, but maybe semi-permanently? The world's small now, we can come back whenever we want but-"

"You want to move in together," Aziraphale says.

"Could do, yeah," Crowley says.

Crowley's not looking at him, so Aziraphale puts a hand under his chin, turning it towards him. "I'd go anywhere with you," Aziraphale says. "London or not."

Crowley leans forward and kisses him. "Good, because I've got some ideas."


	25. Fantasy

"What happened next?" Crowley says, his head still lying in Aziraphale's lap.

"You could just read the book, you know," Aziraphale says, though he knows it will be of no use. Aziraphale stopped recommending books to Crowley shortly after the printing press was invented. Before, Crowley could at least be induced to look at manuscripts if they had amusing marginalia, but once the written word could be produced at scale, with considerably fewer weird drawings, Crowley lost all interest.

"Mhm," Crowley says.

"Well," Aziraphale says, running his hand through Crowley's hair and forgetting to be annoyed. "Then the wizard took the girl and sailed for his homeland."

"What, he kidnapped her?" Crowley says.

"Oh, no," Aziraphale says. "She went most willingly. It was really very romantic."

"Well don't go skipping over the good parts," Crowley says disapprovingly. "Here you are telling me about every meal and you leave out the juicy bits."

Aziraphale sighs. "Fine," he says. "So they're on a windswept moor-"

"Very good, windswept moors," Crowley says, sounding much more satisfied. "Hard to hear yourself talk, what with the wind, but worth it."

"I would have to agree," Aziraphale says. "But are you going to let me tell you the story or not?"

"Right, got it," Crowley says. "Not another peep out of me." He pauses. "And then what happened?"


	26. Confession

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned," Aziraphale says, his head bowed.

"And what have you done, my child?" Crowley says.

"I'm afraid I've cavorted with a demon," Aziraphale says. "Quite thoroughly, as it happens."

"Ooh," Crowley says. "Tell me more."

"Oh, I did quite dreadful things with him," Aziraphale says. "Of a licentious nature."

"I don't follow you," Crowley says. "Could you be more specific?"

"Perhaps I'd better show you," Aziraphale says, looking up at Crowley through his lashes. "So that you can understand clearly the depths of my depravity."

"Yes, my child," Crowley intones, putting a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, and it's downhill from there.

"Say four Hail Marys," Crowley says, when Aziraphale is delicately wiping his mouth clean, "and do it loads more times."


	27. Wings

Crowley wakes up to a feather tickling his nose. He promptly sneezes, then looks about. All he sees is a white wing covering him; it's not touching him, exactly, held over him instead like a little feathery cave.

"Aziraphale?" he says, confused. 

The wing retracts, and Crowley finds Aziraphale lying on his stomach, a book in front of him, looking like he's been caught. "Ah, hello," Aziraphale says.

"What was that about?" Crowley asks. He can't decide if he's mad or not; mostly he's just perplexed.

"I just," Aziraphale says. "I- You were sleeping very soundly, and you looked sort of helpless and maybe a little bit dead, and it just sort of happened."

"Right," Crowley says flatly, annoyed at the implication that he's ever helpless. "It just happened."

"I just needed to protect you," Aziraphale says in a small voice, and whatever irritation Crowley has melts away.

"Watch the tickling next time," Crowley says, shutting his eyes, and he doesn't move when the wing settles hesitantly over him again.


	28. Ring

Crowley considers a snake.

It would be fitting, he thinks, a mark that is incontrovertibly his on Aziraphale. They make quite good rings, as well, being noted for their ability to coil. He could see it every day for as long as Hell and Heaven leave them alone, and he'd always know that Aziraphale wore it for him, the whole thing being not his style at all.

He doesn't get one. The ring is a gold band that glints in the sunlight but is unadorned. It is perfectly fitting for Aziraphale, who is the brightest thing in a room but somehow simple at the same time.

Maybe it's just that Crowley couldn't find a snake ring that didn't look like it should be airbrushed on the side of a van. That didn't help.


	29. Bentley

"Er, hello," Aziraphale says to the Bentley. He feels a bit silly talking to a car, but he's done worse. "I thought we might have a talk."

The Bentley says nothing.

"I know you and Crowley are close, in a way that goes beyond a gentleman and his vehicle of choice," Aziraphale says. "So I'm going to tell you this in confidence, seeking your approval."

The Bentley says nothing.

"You see, I'm going to ask Crowley to marry me," Aziraphale says. "I just thought it would be proper if-"

The Bentley's lights come on, and it honks twice. Aziraphale looks around quickly, but Crowley is nowhere to be found. 

"Oh, I knew you'd understand," Aziraphale says. He pats the car. "Thank you ever so much."

"Angel, what are you doing out there?" Crowley calls from the doorway.

"Nothing," Aziraphale says, and with a last look at the Bentley, he joins Crowley inside.


	30. Drinks

Aziraphale loves cocktails.

He drinks a lot of wine because wine is easy, but he loves anything served to him in a coupe or a martini glass or a tumbler, crafted with care. He appreciates the artistry of small-batch syrups and unusual flavors married in unexpected combinations. He's not good at it himself, but that only makes him like it more.

Crowley delicately stirs the mixture in his shaker, which is mostly gin and which Aziraphale is waiting for with great interest. He strains it into a coupe, a light foam forming on the top. He squeezes a piece of orange peel over the glass and snaps his fingers, and the orange oil flames briefly. "Try that," Crowley says, pushing the glass over to Aziraphale, who picks it up for a sip.

The taste is exquisite; Aziraphale lets it settle on his tongue for a moment to savor it. "My dear, you have outdone yourself," he says.

Crowley reaches over, dipping a cocktail straw into the drink and taking a sample. "Hmm," he says. "Needs work."

"I think it's lovely, but I'm happy to try the next iteration," Aziraphale says.

"Oh, I know," Crowley says, dumping the ice from the shaker. "You're a lush. I like that about you."

"I prefer aesthete," Aziraphale says.

"You would, wouldn't you," Crowley says, but it sounds fond.


	31. Anything you'd like!

Miss Ashtoreth comes over one afternoon, as the shop is closing.

"This place is in a state, Mister Fell," she says disapprovingly, looking about the books. "How does one find anything?"

"If I'm lucky, they don't," Aziraphale says, lifting her hand and kissing her knuckles. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"It's been ever so long, my dear," she says. "It could make a woman feel forgotten."

"No one has ever forgotten you for an instant," he says, with complete certainty. 

She steps in close and curls a hand around his lapel. "Then show me what you remember, darling," she says, tugging him forward, and he kisses her intently.

In the morning Aziraphale stumbles downstairs to find they never locked the door, which is a massive problem that makes him panic immediately. 

"You come back to bed this instant," she calls from upstairs.

Aziraphale flips the sign to closed and locks the door. "Coming, my dear," he says, and scurries away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the lot! I am frankly shocked I finished everything, and on time, but I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
